The Bookstall by Linda Pastan

The Bookstall by Linda Pastan Just looking at them I grow greedy, as if they were freshly baked loaves waiting on their shelves to be broken open—that one and that—and I make my choice in a mood of exalted luck, browsing among them like a cow in sweetest pasture. For life is continuous as long […]

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Spring by Linda Pastan

Spring by Linda Pastan Just as we lose hope she ambles in, a late guest dragging her hem of wildflowers, her torn veil of mist, of light rain, blowing her dandelion breath in our ears; and we forgive her, turning from chilly winter ways, we throw off our faithful sweaters and open our arms.

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Practicing by Linda Pastan

Practicing by Linda Pastan My son is practicing the piano. He is a man now, not the boy whose lessons I once sat through, whose reluctant practicing I demanded—part of the obligation I felt to the growth and composition of a child. Upstairs my grandchildren are sleeping, though they complained earlier of the music which […]

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